Lady of Song and Silence
by Sierra-Falls
Summary: The road is always paved with good intentions, as Buffy traumatically discovers. Not only is her world, her identity, and life as she knows it torn away, but it is done by her friends. And all that's left is the Song and Silence.


There always seems to be some defining moment in a person's life that alters the course of their destiny.

Buffy Summers, slayer extraordinaire, one of the oldest of her line, has had several.

It would be trite to go back and mention each of her "defining moments" starting when she was approached by Merric. So let it be known that out of those several moments, THIS one took the cake... And ran with it too.

"Faith? Let me go! Willow! What's going on?"

"I'm sorry Buffy, but the Powers That Be have declared you a heretic of the Light."

A brief struggle ensued between the Head Slayer and granddaughter of the line before Buffy decided that knowing why she was being accosted by her friends was worth more than her present freedom.

"And you're just going to listen to them! After all they've done? To you, to me, to the Scoobies!"

Willow shook her vibrant red tresses as if in resigned sorrow.

"See, Buff, they told me you'd say things like that. That you'd try to sway me to your side by calling on past ties, past experiences..."

A confused look was on the tiny slayer's face.

"But-"

"NO!" Willow suddenly yelled, which shocked her blonde friend back into silence. "Buffy, I've done my share of going Dark! It's horrible, coming back to yourself and realizing what you've done. The Powers accepted me back as one of the Light, and since I've done my repentance, they have now made me a Champion."

Taken aback, the blonde terror to all that was evil hesitantly ventured a comment as to the relevation of Willow's promotion to Champion.

"That's great Wills... but what does...?" She shrugged, or tried to, as Faith maintained her death's hold grip.

"Everything. The Powers say that since all the Potentials were awakened, they're acting as a conduit, a shunt of sorts. As they get stronger, every year a portion of their Slayer powers will be filtered back up the line to the closest to the first Slayer. First it will be looped through Faith, but then once its collected her share, it will all go to you Buffy. The Powers say that when that power hits, you'll go insane, Dark... Evil. And when you do, nothing will be able to stop you. Not any slayer, not Angel, not even me."

A trail of silvery tears washed down the Wiccan's face, only to be echoed by a sheen from her long time friend.

"I can't let that happen, Buffy. I know its bad coming back from a Dark Power trip, but the Powers say that once you snap, you won't ever come back. I don't want to see you like that, ever, but they say it is inevitable. I'm sorry Buff. I can't let that happen."

It is at this point that Buffy's mind snapped into a state of being that opens a direct link to that part of her psyche which embodied the Slayer. Whatever happened after, she remembered nothing except pain, a feeling of great struggle and flashes of light before she succombed to the sweet embracing darkness of unconsciousness.

* * *

A lance of pain shot through the darkness that sheltered her mind, prodding, stabbing her awareness into breaking through the cover of black.

When full conciousness was attained, it was a phyrric victory. Images flashed before the crumpled figure's canvas of the mind, people who her brain refused to recognize, and further punished her with more mental torture whenever the image was female. So she quit trying to remember the people and just let the vibrant emotions that were underlying flow through her form... And so far, none of those feelings were of the warm and fuzzy sort.

On a ground littered with fallen twigs, rocks and leaves, the figure curled in on herself, arms wrapping around a slender torso as her frame shook. Soon a keening wail rose from a throat tight and vibrating with grief, agony, and betrayal. The eerie cry danced through leaves and bounced off countless tree trunks as the sound soared and ebbed, reverberating through a dark forest.

The creaking of the tree limbs halted, and the abrupt cessitation seemed to portray floral surprise before starting again with a renewed vigor. If one was crazy enough, they would venture that the trees were talking with each other.

And as such, a new creature announced her presence in Fangorn Forest. A being that while still in the shape of the race of Men, felt like a born predator of the deadly forest itself.

* * *

In the wide spaces outside of old Fangorn, tensions were high, violence was a most unwelcome but not unfamiliar visitor, and a darkness on a scale never before seen encroached from the horizon that hosted Mordor and its vile lord Sauron.

Orcs, those twisted abominations of elves made their presence known to the races of Man, Dwarf and Elf alike, slaughtering without mercy and passing out atrocities like candy strewn before children.

It was in these dire times that a unique alliance forged itself among Elf Man and Dwarf. Claiming solely the intent to rid Middle Earth of the threat of Sauron, this alliance was at times shakey, but ironclad in its desire to protect their respective peoples.

But as hopes grew dim and the battles all the more desparate, good news were like rays of murky sunshine, fighting through the sludge of destructive weather. One such ray filtered out from the dreaded Fangorn forest, a known harbor to 'yrch' as the elves call them, as well as other creatures of dark legend.

Word came, after a period of years that orc attacks had declined from the villages at the edges of old Fangorn. Not only declined, but sharply dropped in the space of two years. The reasons for this remained unknown, but the daring who braved the dank depths of the sentient trees and lived brought back with them whispers of incredulous myth so outlandish it could scarcely be believed...

And yet, some parts of these rare tales coincided with others. While a massive army primarily consisting of Men and Elves marched on Mordor to put an end to the head evil, stories filtered through the ranks of an invisible being that was purging an infested forest.

One story said the being was an elf, who had found a weapon of the gods, and was using it to make safe a forest for Elven habitation.

Another told of a new race, one that had yet to make itself known being displeased that Fangorn was being invaded by those dirty orcs, and thus destroying them.

Some said it was a god come down to protect the villages surrounding Fangorn, and Roharrim shield maidens insisted it was a rogue ten foot tall sister trying to make a difference outside the patriarchal society that mainly kept females under sway.

* * *

None of the speculation could ever guess that 5 feet 2 inches of blonde, dancing like Kali herself, surrounded by the last great nest of orcs in Fangorn was Middle Earth's hero.

In a zen state of perfect harmony with her body, the feminine figure of death personified found a quick clashing humming melody rising from her core and emerging from her throat in a song of vibrant tones, the embodiment of the fight made liquid sound.

Flowing with her notes, the ethereal face was alight with martial pleasure as she quickly decimated her foes, crunching bones and pulping muscles with dainty ease.

When nothing else could challenge her, and the oppressive feel of evilness dissapating in the humid air, the song of the fight changed, drifted into something else. Triumphant victory, stained with some crescendos of regret for the losses of life now spoke through celestial music made without effort except for the fact that it moved the maker.

Stilling, the small lithe figure looked around at the bodies that lay at her feet. Giving a small sigh, her mint green eyes sparked with determination.

"Well, I can't just leave them here... Its too close to my new residence. It'll stink. And I bet you guys," she directed this statement oddly enough, at the trees, "would like to have access to the added nutrients when they decompose, right?"

The tree she happened to be looking at did something odd for a tree.

It creaked, in a very calculated manner, followed quickly by similar creaks from every other tree in the vicinity.

The blonde nodded once to herself, taking this answer for a resounding YES. After all, what's a little work when the very trees went out of their way (no pun intended - they're trees after all) to help provide her with living necessities. A particularly accomodating willow by the banks of a stream had shifted around some inner branches to create a living space as well as allowing her to interweave some branches to create firmer walls.

Over the years, the female had swiftly learned the ways of the forest, aided both by strong instinct and the guidance of a sentient mobile tree.

* * *

What she grew to know as an Ent had introduced her to the varied aspects of forest life after first making sure she was not a threat to his charges. Well, when they first met, the Ent tried to crush her under its rooty feet, quite sure that anything in the shape of a two-legger mammal was an orc, and therefore to be killed quite at once.

The huddled blonde, who at the time was just realizing her surroundings, reacted with a ferocity that welled from deep within at the threat leapt up and away from the crater where she once laid. Springing atop a small boulder, eyes as green as new foliage peered piercingly from beneath hair as golden as the new corinth blooms.

A warning growl emanated from the deceptively small frame to which the Ent bristled. This creature had invaded his charges' domain, and it DARED try warning HIM away!

But in the end, this shepard of the forest drew back its righteous fury as a respected elder oak bent forward, its mature limbs cracking its encasing bark to quickly shelter the small predator within.

The Ent whistled its twigs through the air in surprise. These elder trees never moved as the old oak did unless there was something of utmost importance behind the actions. Just why would they shelter one who probably was no better than orc?

From within the protective cavern of pinnate leaves clear trebles shifted in question edged with wary anger. With the fresh green eyes peeking from the shadowed depths blinked, the Ent settled back and asked, in the manner of the greater flora, why the rooted ones sought to help a two-legger.

By the time that all of its questions had viable answers (which took hours), the small predator was asleep, rocked in the steady strength of the oak, which had picked her up after she drifted off.

The Ent, which later introduced itself to the little predator as Marshwillow, had found itself a fellow shepard of the forest, quite strange looking, but much more suited to ridding Fangorn of its pests and their nasty habit of killing and torturing the trees. Marshwillow sensed subtle changes in the ambient energies as the wilderness adapted and welcomed this newcomer. Soon after being introduced to areas stagnant with the filth of orc, new winds moved to cleanse, and gnarled claws that once destroyed like a cancer on the forest stilled in death as the green eyed huntress strafed across portions of the land. And the forest rejoiced, in its own stately reserved way.

It was many years until the little predator was safely informed that only the rarest stragglers of orcs remained in Fangorn. Closing on two decades since her abrupt appearance, Marshwillow could see no visible change in the two-legger's apparant age. Her peach bark did not wrinkle and crack, the trunk of her body did not lengthen or thicken, and her leaves crowning her head never changed into the autumn or winter of their life. She remained the strong young sapling she appeared, and for the most part, Marshwillow did not comment or care. For all he knew, she was just a variant of those elf creatures the rooted trees gossiped about.

And during this entire period of pest control, the huntress never remembered much of her time before Fangorn, as it always brought such vision flashes of pain and betrayal from female forms. To this end, the huntress never ventured far from Fangorn's borders, never into a village, and never let herself be seen by Man nor Elf who intruded into her sanctuary.

Instead, over the years, the little predator found much amusement in rattling those invader's wits through mind games and small psychological taunts. As rare as it was, when a female crept into Fangorn, the blonde immediately departed the area, no signs to show her habitation or passage. But when the intruder was male, oh, let the games begin!

It always started with the singing. As the huntress found little use for talking, the trees don't verbalize much, she found her repotoire shrinking to those melodies and songs she distantly remembered and those which she crafted in her increasingly copious spare time. Then again, since everyone spoke Westron and not English, tones were more understood than words anyways.

When Man or Elf stumbled around the gloomy atmosphere under the canopy, haunting strains of some angelic voice would twine its way through the trees and caress their ears, teasing, maddening.

When the male was thoroughly hooked as once sailors were to sirens, the huntress would lead the now pursuing figure on a merry chase. And just when he thought he had caught up to this enthralling entity, the song and its singer would vanish, sometimes gifting the pursuer with a glimpse of gold, and sometimes with soft mocking laughter for not keeping up.

It was because of this pastime of hers in the second decade in Fangorn that she received a dubious title.

Males spoke with reverence and females with disbelief of the Lady of Song and Silence.

* * *

It was many decades later that Marshwillow willingly started a conversation with the forest huntress for the first time since... ever. For all this time, his fellow Ents had found in she an aide that was more capable of ridding their charges of those destructive pests called orcs. But lately, elder shepard had been receiving increasingly urgent notices from brother forests. Despite the fall of the dark lord years hence, the forests have not been rid of their own brands of pestilance. Through a truly complicated network of root vibrations and wind-borne pollen scent messages, Marshwillow was given guidance as to the idea of approaching the huntress to see if her further aide would solve the problem.

In the manner of the Ents, it was with long drawn breaths and many pauses that Marshwillow broached the subject.

"Tree-friend, fellow caretaker of the forest... You are needed."

The silent huntress tilted her crown of leaves so that the bright yellow shifted to one side in a questioning slide. A peach barked limb lifted with palm upward to clarify the question she was asking. It was not a rude Man's 'what do you want', rather in the complexly direct manner of the trees, 'comprehension to the necessity' flavored with 'where is the need' and 'in what capacity is help needed'. Much can be conveyed with body motion alone when one knows the language.

"Orcs," was Marshwillow's reply, followed quickly (relatively, as it was more than a minute later) by, "with our western brothers, keepers of elves."

The golden leaved one relaxed from her tense and wary stance. There were no orcs here to permanently banish.

"The Great Forest provides," the Ent went on. "West the forest caretaker will travel. One sun's hibernation in the Aldar grove's clearing. Young sapling find orc thereafter. Many spring's growth, Huntress, as the Great Forest provides."

What was not mentioned was the fact that Mirkwood had many thousands of leagues distance between Fangorn and its equally dark kin. That clearning in the Aldar grove? The Great Forest provides in mysterious ways, one of which was an instant construction of a leafy teleportation circle to safely transport a needed resource without possibility of damage that a long journey through the lands of Man would entail.

On a lesser note, it would also ensure that the Huntress will have little to no contact with any outside of what she is prone to kill and the forests that she lives in.

And with that, the Lady of Song and Silence had her relocation orders. She was slated for Mirkwood, home the second generation of trees, and hotbed of evil things that lurk in the night. Oh, and elves. Lets not forget the light haired tree huggers.


End file.
